Carry You Home
by somethingsdont
Summary: A story about how Joy Keenan became Temperance Brennan, and the people who shaped her.


**Title**: Carry You Home  
**Author**: somethingsdont / zerodetorres at livejournal  
**Characters**: Brennan, Max/Ruth, Russ  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Length**: 6,806  
**Timeline**: Pre-series (spoilers up to S5)  
**Summary**: A story about how Joy Keenan became Temperance Brennan, and the people who shaped her.

**Notes**: Huge thank you to the very wonderful TemperTemper for the awesome beta. Girl, you rock.

* * *

A clap of thunder, a grunt, and a push.

Then quiet, except for the rain pounding against the windows.

.

Max kissed Ruth on the mouth, and she cried when the screaming bundle was placed in her arms.

"Thirty-three hours," Ruth murmured through her tears, tucking the blanket under the baby's chin as she gently rocked her. "You little rascal."

The baby settled down in her mother's arms, and Ruth carefully handed her to Max, who cradled her close to his chest, bursting with immeasurable love and pride.

He smiled down at their little miracle. "Welcome to the world, Joy Elizabeth Keenan."

Four-year-old Kyle stared in amazement at the tiny person sleeping in the car seat. He reached out to touch her cheek, and Joy stirred in her sleep.

"Be gentle," Max reminded him.

But Kyle was a natural, and he showered his baby sister with as much love as he knew how to bestow. He shadowed his parents everywhere they took Joy, and though the newborn slept for hours at a time, waking only to cry and fuss, Kyle spent the first day peering adoringly at her between the horizontal bars that lined the side of her crib.

Max insisted that Ruth rest, but she complained of having been confined to a bed for the greater part of two days. She found herself often at the doorway of the nursery, admiring her two children and how easily the new addition immediately fit in.

Max appeared behind Ruth and wrapped his arms around her waist. She smiled, leaning into him.

"You're glowing," Max said softly.

Ruth beamed. "Look at them, Max."

Max nuzzled a kiss into her neck. "Think we'll have any more?" he murmured teasingly next to her ear.

She laughed tenderly, affectionately, as she turned to kiss her husband. But the sound of his mother's laughter alerted Kyle, who turned and pressed his index finger tightly against his lips.

"Shhh!"

"Sorry, Kyle," Ruth whispered.

The four remained, quiet, at peace, and time seemed of very little consequence. Ruth felt Max's heartbeat strong against her back, and it began to hammer when she craned her neck to face him and finally replied:

"Maybe."

.

Kyle sat cross-legged on the floor, studying a colorful picture book. He struggled with the letters across the page as he attempted to sound them out. He didn't understand; it was so easy for his mother…

Joy appeared at his door, and she giggled as she toddled over to her brother, running clumsily into his torso when she reached him. She grasped for his cheeks, pressing her inept fingers haphazardly against his face.

"Mmph, Joy, quit that!" Kyle whined as he pushed his sister's hands away."I'm doing homework," he explained importantly.

To his surprise, two-year-old Joy flopped down onto the floor beside him and stared attentively at the book. Ever eager to teach, Kyle pointed to the large words across the bottom of the page.

"That says 'cat'."

"Cat," Joy echoed.

"And this—" Kyle pointed to another word. "—that's um…"

"Fat. Fat cat." Joy clapped her hands together. "Fat cat," she repeated, giggling.

Kyle stared wide-eyed at his sister. "How did you do that? W-wait, don't move!"

Kyle ran downstairs and dashed into the kitchen, where his mother sat with a checkbook and a stack of papers.

"Mommy, I think Joy's reading my schoolbook," he announced breathlessly.

Ruth smiled, reaching to ruffle the boy's sandy hair. "Well, you certainly have quite an imagination, don't you, Kyle? Sweetie, Joy is only two and a half years old."

"No, _really_," Kyle insisted, tugging at his mother's dress. "Come look."

But by the time Kyle dragged Ruth to his room, Joy had interested herself with one of Kyle's toy trains, and Ruth leaned down to kiss Kyle on the forehead, then moved to scoop Joy up off the floor.

"Do your homework, honey," Ruth told Kyle as she carried Joy out of his room.

Over Ruth's shoulder, Joy smiled sweetly at Kyle.

.

"Do you think we'll do this forever?" Ruth asked Max one night, after they'd tucked their children into bed. "Testing the law?"

Max looked up. "What's got you asking that all of a sudden?"

Ruth sighed. "We're parents now, Max. This life we're leading…" She looked toward the staircase that led to her children's rooms. "We can't keep doing this."

Max touched Ruth's cheek. "Honey, we'll just have to be careful."

.

Kyle had never seen his father like this, and it terrified him. Max kneeled beside Kyle, his facial features drawn into deep lines.

"Your name is Russ Brennan."

"Why, Daddy?" a gap-toothed Kyle asked.

Max gripped the boy's arm tightly, demanding his attention. "Listen to me," Max asserted. "Your name is _Russ Brennan_. Do you understand?"

"You're hurting me," Kyle whined. "Why're you saying that, Daddy? My name's Kyle."

"Do you want to know what happens if you ever use that name again?" Max leaned in menacingly. "Someone's going to come hurt Joy." He waited for the words to sink in. "So forget Kyle. Your name is Russ Brennan," he repeated.

Kyle became irritated. "Who?" he demanded. "Who's gonna hurt Joy?"

Max shushed him. "Not Joy. Temperance. Your sister's name is Temperance Brennan. Now what's your name?"

"Kyle," the boy replied instinctively.

Without warning, Max slapped Kyle across the face, tears welling up in his own eyes when the pads of his fingers made contact with his son's cheek. Kyle began to bawl, but Max ground his teeth together and steeled his resolve.

"What's your name?" he asked his son again.

"I don't knooow," Kyle cried between sobs.

"Russ Brennan. Your name is Russ Brennan. Now say it."

Kyle hiccupped. "Russ Brennan," he said meekly.

Max nodded. "Good. What's your name?"

Tears sprang to Kyle's eyes again. "I just said it, Daddy."

"Say it again," Max insisted.

"Russ Brennan."

"Again."

Fearful of provoking his father's anger, Kyle repeated his new name over and over until it became second nature. He never stopped crying.

That night, Max and Ruth carried their sleeping children to their car, buckled them in, and drove away from everything they had ever known. Max gripped the steering wheel, tossing periodic glances at Kyle, asleep in the backseat.

Fifteen minutes past the Ohio-Indiana border, Kyle roused from sleep, immediately startled.

"Where're we going?"

"Go back to sleep, honey," Ruth urged.

Through the rearview mirror, Max saw the distrust in Kyle's eyes, but he pushed on.

_I'm sorry, son. I'm so sorry._

._  
_

"How can we keep doing this, Max?"

"It's Matthew now," Max said quietly. "Matthew Brennan."

The night air was still, and a streetlight outside cast a long beam of pale yellow across their sheets, contrasting against the darkness that filled the rest of the bedroom. Max shifted to face Ruth, inching closer until their bodies touched.

"Max…"

"We're doing fine," he argued. "Kids are settling in; neighbors are friendly and unsuspicious…"

"That's my point, Max," Ruth sighed. "We have this life, and we're finally under the radar. Aren't you tired of never knowing?"

Max remained quiet as he reached to touch Ruth's face. He was surprised to find her cheeks damp with tears. She pulled away.

"And if they find us again?" Ruth continued. "Slap your son across the face and tell him his name's Nathan? Threaten the safety of his little sister? How far does this go, Max?"

He kissed her, and she sobbed against his mouth. "You know as well as I do that we're in too deep, Ruth," he told her gently, his hand coasting her back, around the curve of her hip.

Ruth squeezed her eyes shut, and she knew. "Max?" she croaked, reaching for him. She was quiet for a moment as she slid into her husband's arms. "Make love to me."

.

The sounds of a brass key blade clicking against the inner mechanisms of a lock made five-year-old Temperance leap off the couch and rocket toward the front door, nearly tripping over Russ's backpack in the process.

Max stepped inside with a briefcase in one hand and a small paper bag in the other.

"Daddy!"

Max dropped his briefcase and scooped the little girl up with one arm. "Hi, honey," he greeted with a quick kiss to his daughter's cheek. "How was school?"

"Easy," Temperance replied. She studied the paper bag in her father's hand. "May I have a snickerdoodle?" she asked sweetly.

Max juggled her to his other arm and opened the bag. Temperance reached in and pulled out a sugar cookie. She took a bite, and a few stray crumbs tumbled onto the front of her shirt.

Max tapped gently and rhythmically on his daughter's belly, and she giggled. "Hey, Tempe, your mom's going to get mad if you make a mess. Why don't you go eat it in the kitchen, okay?"

Temperance nodded obediently and wiggled out of her father's arms. "Will you put on the trying song?" she asked through a mouthful of cookie. "Please?"

Max walked over to their record player and lifted the arm over the vinyl disk. As Temperance slipped into her seat at the kitchen table, the soft sounds of Poco filled the air.

.

Turning eight was not a big deal for Temperance, and she didn't understand why others made such a fuss. She could've easily been born a day later or a day earlier, and she had difficulty grasping the notion of needing a reason to spend time with the people she loved.

Her brother took her out for a bike ride, and the two pedaled leisurely down their street.

Russ turned to his sister. "How's it feel to be eight?"

Temperance shrugged, picking up her pace to keep up with Russ. "I don't feel any different than I did yesterday."

Russ rolled his eyes. "Aw, c'mon, Tempe. Birthdays are important."

"Why?"

"Well, because you get presents; that's why!"

Temperance considered this for a moment. Hearing it from the older brother she so admired was enough to convince her, and she smiled brightly at him. "What did you get me?"

Russ slowed for a moment. "I can't tell you that! It's a surprise."

Temperance grimaced; she hated surprises. But she loved her brother, respected him, so she did not ask again.

Hours later, Temperance sat awake in her bed, her new encyclopedia balanced precariously on her lap. She read about ancient cultures and archeology, ecology and evolution, and the knowledge thrilled her. In the middle of the night, she climbed out of bed and padded barefoot to her brother's room.

Russ was asleep, but Temperance reached his bed and shook him. "Russ," she whispered. "Russ, wake up."

Russ groaned as he turned over, and he squinted at his sister. "Tempe?" He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?" he murmured.

Temperance pressed a sloppy kiss to Russ's cheek and grinned broadly at him. "I love my birthday present, Russ."

.

Temperance only ever wanted to please.

Her father was a science teacher; she learned the table of elements and Newton's laws of motion and the process of natural selection.

Her mother was a bookkeeper; she learned to interpret and calculate revenues and expenses, and excelled at managing inventory.

Her brother liked fast cars and loud music; she memorized the parts of an engine, and could recite the lyrics to all his favorite songs.

She grew awkwardly into adolescence. She was younger than her classmates, but smarter; at twelve, she was graced with round cheeks and long, lanky limbs she carried with difficulty. She was quiet unless called upon; spoke strangely, maturely, pragmatically.

She found stability in her parents and a protector in her brother, and though the definition of love was always rather ambiguous to her, Temperance knew, without a doubt, that she loved them.

.

When they were alone, she never stopped calling him Max.

It was a dangerous decision, but she needed to hold on to a touch of her old life, and he gave it to her because he loved her.

And in their most intimate moments, she was Ruth. She was always Ruth.

.

It was the first day of spring, and a strong Chicago breeze gusted in from the open windows. Temperance sat in social studies, a notebook opened across her desk, and she took notes with a steady hand.

"Marco!"

The students nearest the windows looked outside, and Temperance smiled. The top of Russ's head was peeking out from behind the bushes, and as he left the bushes and moved closer to the building, he waved at Temperance.

Her smile widened. "Polo," she murmured under her breath, so as not to disturb the class.

The girl sitting in front of her turned around and whispered, "Your brother is _so_ cute."

"If by cute, you're implying that he is delicately attractive," Temperance whispered back, "then I can assure you, he is actually rather inelegant in many aspects."

The girl tossed her a strange look and turned away.

Russ remained outside for a few moments, then waved goodbye and slipped away, all without being detected by Temperance's social studies teacher. She grinned widely, feeling significant, and wanted, and most importantly, remembered.

.

Temperance grew into a quiet brilliance that suited her. Her face matured, became defined and feminine, and her body began filling with curves. Others took notice of the pretty girl with the blue eyes, but at her core, she never changed.

She hung on to the people she knew, and strayed from those she didn't. She was not an easy person to love, but she surrounded herself with the things she knew: the human anatomy, Russ's guitar riffs, visits to the museum of natural history. And while her classmates ogled at movie stars airbrushed across the pages of teen magazines, Temperance gazed through her father's telescope at night, charting out the brightest and most intricate constellations.

Though the opposite may appear accurate, in truth, human behavior fascinated her, and she scribed pages upon pages of notes on the way the people around her interacted with one another.

She wrote about her father's charisma, her mother's affection, her brother's unwavering loyalty. She linked human traits to physiological responses, documented and explained people in a way that she could understand – with variables and statistics. She found comfort in the explicable, in the rational, in her father's science experiments.

And though she remained awkward in demeanor and frank in speech, her life was beginning to take shape.

.

A dolphin leapt high out of the water, drawing a large arch in the air with her long body, and the audience gasped and applauded in excitement.

"Dolphins are extremely intelligent creatures," Temperance said, turning to her mother.

"Look at how beautiful they are," Ruth replied with a sad smile.

"Beauty is subjective," Temperance argued. "But intelligence is defined as a capacity for learning, reasoning and understanding. Dolphins are exceptionally highly evolved in that regard."

Ruth laughed. "Temperance."

"Hmm?"

"I love you, sweetie."

Temperance smiled vibrantly. "I love you too, Mom."

Ruth pulled her daughter into her arms and held her. If she'd been more observant, Temperance would have noticed the way her mother clung to her a little too tightly, almost painfully, as though she knew something her daughter did not. But Temperance accepted her mother's affection like she always had, always thought she would, and when they pulled apart, Temperance turned back to the dolphin show.

Ruth's tears went unnoticed.

.

He appeared in the rearview mirror like the first shadow of cancer, and immediately, Max felt the bile rising in his throat.

Without turning to look at his wife, Max took the next right, his knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. "Christine," he said calmly, inconspicuously. "We're being followed."

Ruth's eyes flashed, but years of experienced had taught her to remain still, unsuspicious. "Who is it?"

"McVicar," he mumbled. "Dirty bastard's still working for them."

"Russ and Tempe are home. We can't—"

"I know," Max interrupted. Their eyes met momentarily before Max turned back to the road, focus renewed. "I'm going to lead him away, but we're going to have to ditch this car."

"This car? We're going to have to ditch this _city_. Grab the kids and make a run for it. _Damn it_, Max."

Max remained calm. "One thing at a time." He shot another glance at the rearview mirror. "We took precautions. The license plate won't track back to our address, or even our new names. Is there anything on the car that identifies the kids?"

"Yes," Ruth replied immediately. "Bumper sticker from Tempe's elementary school."

Max clenched his jaw. "We got too damn cocky."

"She was so proud, Max. We couldn't possibly have said no." She took a breath. "But it's obstructed by snow. I'm sure of it. No way McVicar's got a good look at it yet."

"All right," he decided, taking cautious looks around. "I'm going to park somewhere and scrape it off."

She touched his thigh. "McVicar's going to kill you the moment you step out of this car."

"A risk I can take." He looked briefly at his wife. "I'll be quick."

Without giving Ruth a chance to retort, Max pulled into a nearby parking lot. Leaving the key in the ignition, he exited the car and rounded to the back. He pulled out a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open, making quick work of the name on the sticker.

McVicar was approaching, and Max rushed back into his vehicle. As he pulled the car into reverse, the window on Ruth's side shattered, and a thousand glass shards sprayed across Ruth's side. She lifted her arms to protect her head, and Max was yelling something she couldn't make out. The next thing she saw was darkness.

Quieter than a gun, but messier. Didn't leave shell casings behind, and no bullets in the body.

Max picked up a piece of broken glass and shoved it at McVicar's head, ignoring the double-edged nature of the blade slicing open his own palm. McVicar leapt back as a pool of blood formed across the top of his head, and Max took the opportunity to speed away, desperately shaking his unconscious wife with one hand while steering with the other.

.

It was Tuesday, and Temperance hadn't seen her parents since Sunday morning. Russ had filed a police report, and while they waited for news, Temperance occupied her time with school, writing, anything she could to keep her mind off her parents' disappearance.

But it was difficult to concentrate on lectures, and she tore up most of what she penned. She ate little and slept even less. Though few of her classmates made attempts to speak to her, after a photograph of her parents made the local evening news, they began regarding her with sympathy. She hated it.

During a particularly uninteresting third-period history lecture, the high school intercom came alive, and a voice intoned: _Temperance Brennan to the office please. Temperance Brennan to the office. Thank you._

A feeling of sheer dread overcame her as she staggered to her feet and stumbled out of the classroom. Something was very, very wrong.

As she neared the office, she saw a familiar face through the glass windows of the office, and the feeling intensified. Russ was perched against the front counter, his fingers drumming unsteadily against his thigh. Temperance pushed open the office door and entered. Immediately, Russ pivoted to face her.

"Russ, what—"

"They found mom and dad's car."

"I don't—"

"This morning, just outside Newark. What the fuck were they doing in Jersey? Shit."

One of the secretaries looked up at Russ's cussing, but said nothing.

Temperance trembled as she processed her brother's words. "W-what about mom and dad?"

Russ shook his head. "Not a trace."

"They're not dead," she breathed with a mixture of relief and apprehension. "What happens now?"

"They're going to keep looking, but Tempe, it doesn't look good. They found—they found blood. A lot of blood."

But Temperance was fifteen, held in her heart an adolescent idealism, and she heard hope in her brother's words, not despair. She stepped toward him and enveloped him in an embrace.

"They wouldn't abandon us," Temperance murmured into Russ's jacket. "They—they'll be back."

And for the first time in longer than either could remember, Russ cried.

.

Ruth balanced her weight against the ceramic bathroom sink, her head lowered. She fixed her gaze on the stream of water spurting from the faucet, trying to manage her disorientation. Traces of dried blood still caked the side of her scalp, and around her wound, her dark, unwashed hair was stained an unnatural shade of deep copper.

Max stood next to her in the crowded space, cradling her head with one hand while the other pressed a clean washcloth against her wound. It came away brown. No fresh bleeding.

"We need to get you to a hospital," Max murmured tenderly.

She squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of nausea rocked her. "No…"

"Ruth."

"Look, just a little blood. We step into a hospital and we give away our location, our identities." She sucked in a breath of air. "McVicar would've reported back by now. They're gonna be monitoring clinics and hospitals." She reached out toward the faucet, cupped a puddle of tepid water in her palm, and quickly brought it to her lips. She bit back tears. "Max, sweetie, I'm fine."

Max stood silently, carefully cleaning Ruth's wound with their limited supplies and water of questionable quality. "We need to grab Russ and Tempe." His voice held no leverage for argument.

Ruth winced. "That's far too dangerous."

"What are you saying?" Max asked in frustration. "Leave them there? What's to say McVicar won't go after them? That they're not already being tailed?"

Ruth's head snapped up, and she immediately regretted it as the room momentarily spun around her. "He—he's not after the kids," she said slowly. "He doesn't want to draw attention, not now."

"You can't know what that bastard is thinking."

"Think, Max." She sucked in a breath of air, her knuckles tightening around the sink. "Russ and Tempe, they'll report this. The police are going to be in and out of the house for the next few weeks. No way McVicar'll touch that with a ten foot pole. Middle-aged couple like us, cops'll lose interest quick, but a pretty teen girl and her nineteen-year-old brother? That'd go nation-wide. McVicar wouldn't risk that."

Max seemed to consider this, his eyes steeling at the thought.

Ruth leaned closer and captured Max's lips in a quiet, reassuring kiss. "Hey. We'll go back and get them when it's safer. But right now, this is our best option."

.

A blanket of snow covered the cemetery, and it crunched under Russ and Temperance's feet.

Russ walked ahead, and Temperance trailed behind, dragging her boots in the snow. She did not want to be here.

She padded up to Russ and pulled on the sleeve of his jacket. "Why are we here?"

He didn't even look at her. "I don't know."

He said those words often, and Temperance watched helplessly as her brother struggled to assume the role of parent, of provider. It didn't suit him; he would need time to grow into his father's shoes.

She tried again. "Nobody we know is here."

What she meant was: There were no bodies to bury.

Russ walked on.

"And anyway, it's only been two weeks," Temperance added, touching her brother's arm to stop him.

Russ's irritation was sudden and violent. "They're dead, Tempe."

She recoiled. "They never found—"

"They're _dead_."

An angry clap rang across the cemetery as the inside of Temperance's hand lashed out against Russ's cheek, unforgiving. The wind picked up, whipping her hair into her face. She felt the tears prickling and steeled her jaw.

"They're either dead," Russ continued calmly as ugly pink lines stretched across his cheek, "or they left us to fend for ourselves."

Temperance did the only thing she felt she had the power to do in that instant; she bolted, leaving behind a trail of empty footprints in the snow.

.

They were fifty miles outside Philly, give or take. It'd been fifteen days since they'd ditched their car in New Jersey, and exactly two and a half weeks since Chicago. Two and a half weeks since they'd seen their children.

The motel room smelled of cigarette smoke and mildew. Max was in the shower, and Ruth quietly slipped into the tiny bathroom, stripped down, and pulled aside the shower curtain to join him. She drew surprise from his eyes, and Max pulled his wife toward him as he appraised her naked body, inhaling at the sight of her. They'd been running for so long, he'd almost forgotten…

Max leaned in to suck at Ruth's collarbone, and at the same moment, the showerhead sputtered and spewed lukewarm water over them. Ruth shivered. "Max… we have to go back."

"Christine…" he mumbled against her skin.

She gripped him under his chin, almost around his neck, and pulled him up to eye level. "Don't call me that."

He swallowed hard, feeling Ruth's palm against his throat, her fingers and thumb spanning the sides of his jaw. He hadn't shaved since Chicago.

"It was your damn idea in the first place," Max countered through gritted teeth.

"You can't stop me," she added with a quiet ferocity. At her core, she was still a mother. A mother torn from the children she loved so much. She tightened her grip around Max's neck. "I've had enough of this bullshit."

It was Max's turn to play the aggressor, and he tore Ruth's arm away from him, stepping closer, their bodies making contact. His voice was low. "You show up within a hundred miles of Chicago," he challenged, "you'd be signing their death sentence."

The uneven spray of water battered down on them, cold and wet. The air thickened with moisture.

"They deserve better than this," Ruth hissed. "Better than us."

Max tensed. "I know."

Ruth exhaled, softening. "Remember when they were Kyle and Joy? Remember that?"

Max's eyes answered where his lips couldn't. He remembered. They were young, once, a long time ago, when the creases on his forehead weren't as defined, when the crinkles around her lips were invisible as she smiled. She didn't smile much anymore.

Two and a half weeks felt like a decade apart.

.

Temperance jerked awake in the middle of the night. She'd become a light sleeper, and she heard noises coming from downstairs. Through the haze of sleep, her pulse began to hammer, and she leapt out of bed. She left her room in a hurry, her heart caught in her throat, and ran toward the stairs.

A strand of Christmas lights lined the railing, and from where she stood at the top of the stairs, she could see the faint glow of colorful lights radiating from the living room. Temperance raced down the stairs, two steps at a time.

"Mom! Dad!" she cried, tears of relief springing to her eyes.

But where she expected to see her parents, she saw Russ instead, alone, his arms reaching to wrap the last few loops of Christmas lights around the top of the tree. Temperance froze, feeling sick to her stomach.

Russ startled. "Tempe, go back to sleep. This is supposed to be a sur—"

"Where are Mom and Dad?" she asked evenly.

Russ sighed. "Tempe…"

"No! We can't—" Her words caught in her throat as she began to sob. "It's _not_ Christmas without them!"

With that, she turned on her heels and stomped back to her room, tears blurring her vision as she climbed angrily into bed. She sobbed for the people she missed, for the crushing disappointment, and for the unreasonable rage she felt toward her brother.

Temperance fell into a fitful sleep, her tears drying against her pillowcase.

.

They were becoming too good at what they did. Way too good.

At running, evading, and pretending that time stood still for them. It didn't.

Max and Ruth spent Christmas Eve in a seedy motel off the I-85 at the northern tip of South Carolina. They were headed south; Max had contacts in Florida who could help them forge new – _newer_ – identities.

The swelling on her head had gone down, but he was still gentle in his movements, careful.

"Look at me," Ruth said as Max grunted into her neck.

Max kept his face buried, his breath a whisper across her heated skin.

"Max," she insisted around a groan.

Max lifted his head and complied, his eyes searing holes everywhere he looked. He thrust slowly, hesitantly.

She came with a quiet gasp, body shaking under his weight, but something remained tightly coiled at the pit of her stomach. Something she hadn't been able to let go of for decades. Something she'd take with her to the grave.

Max collapsed against her without a word, and both wanted to cry though neither did.

With experience came expertise, but starting over never became easy.

"Merry Christmas," Max murmured into Ruth's shoulder.

.

Russ cut off a piece of his cherry pie with the edge of his fork and pushed it around his plate, leaving behind a streak of bright red filling.

Temperance chewed her own piece slowly, watching him. She sliced off another bite, touched it to the whipped cream, and brought it to her lips. She chewed again, swallowed, and still, Russ played nervously with his dessert.

"Russ?"

His fork clinked gently as he placed it on his plate. "I'm heading out west," he exhaled, looking anywhere but directly at her.

Her breath hitched. "Where?"

"I don't know yet," he replied. Their eyes met for a split second, but Russ immediately looked away. "Tempe…"

She frowned. "Then how will I know what to pack?"

Russ sighed, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "Tempe," he said gently, "I'm going alone."

"I don't understand. You're _leaving_ me?"

"I—I'm sorry."

"Is this because of the way I reacted at Christmas?"

"No, I just can't take proper care of you. I'm nineteen, Tempe…"

She shook her head. "If you believed yourself to be an insufficient parent, you wouldn't move across the country in an attempt to rectify it. You're leaving because I hurt your feelings at Christmas."

"I'm nineteen," he repeated quietly, his head falling to his hands. "I'm not cut out for this. I'm suffocating, Tempe. I need to breathe."

Temperance willed herself not to cry, even as a slow panic overtook her. "What happens to me?"

"I talked to James, and—"

"Our _social worker_?"

"Yeah, he's—"

"You're putting me in foster care."

Russ was quiet. "I'm sorry. They—they'll do a better job than me. I'm sorry."

Temperance lowered her eyes. "You're giving up on me."

"No, I—I _fought_ for you when mom and dad disappeared," Russ fumed. "We don't have any other family, Tempe, in case you haven't noticed. They wanted to put you in a home, because I was too young. That's what everyone said. Too young, too inexperienced, _not good enough_." He chuckled bitterly. "I guess they were right."

"Russ…" She saw, in her brother's eyes, a sudden youth. A child carrying the burdens of a broken family, unprepared. It surprised her, and she stumbled. "I should've checked the driveway first," she deflected quietly.

Russ became agitated. "They're _gone_. I'm the one who put my life on hold to keep us under the same roof. And I thought that'd be enough. I thought I was doing the right thing."

Harsh and sudden tears sprang from her eyes. "You're acting like I've been a _burden_," she said, a sob escaping.

"No, that's not—Tempe!"

Russ watched helplessly as his sister ran to her room. The door slammed behind her with gut-wrenching finality.

.

She threw up the pie. All of it, clinging to the side of the toilet bowl, shaking like a junkie.

She didn't like her fruit cooked. That was what she'd tell people, she decided. It was a much better story.

.

Russ loaded up his car on a Sunday, and by Monday morning, he was gone. Temperance did not say a single word to him even as he spoke of apologies and regrets. Her chest ached with the sorrow of loss behind her and the fear of uncertainty ahead.

James drove her to her new home and introduced her to her new family. She didn't want new. She wanted her father's strong voice and her mother's gentle eyes and her brother's teasing laughter.

Tom and Judy. Those were their names. She wasn't their only charge but she never bothered to learn the names of her new siblings.

Temperance resented them for everything they stood for. Didn't try to get along with the others because this was a temporary arrangement, and she didn't need friends. Didn't need anyone.

Everyone she'd ever needed left her to fend for herself. The logical conclusion was to never let herself need anyone ever again. Love was ephemeral, and her parents and brother were proof of that.

She went to school because she had to. She shared a bedroom with a chunky girl around her age and a scrawny little eight-year-old who screamed through the night. The chunky girl had meaty fists and was smart about her aim. Temperance took the hits until she taught herself how to kickbox at the library. Chunky girl needed eight stitches to close the cut above her eye, but she never said a word about who punched her. Tom and Judy liked the story about her walking into the bed frame much better.

.

The first time Russ stole something, he felt sick to his stomach.

The second time Russ stole something, he felt like his father.

The third time, he didn't feel anything at all.

.

It wasn't the darkness that scared her.

To her, darkness was merely an absence of light. Absolute darkness was theoretical, and that fact comforted her. She was surrounded by infrared light particles, and in her mind, she pictured them moving in the air around her. Sinusoids were beautiful to her; the ranges of wavelength that defined colors and visibility fascinated her. Her inability to detect light was due to human vision being confined to a tiny fraction of the electromagnetic spectrum, and those limits induced nothing more than a scientific curiosity in her.

What terrified her was not the darkness; it was the thinning air. She tried to calm down, consume less oxygen with each breath, but her heart was pounding painfully in her chest and she needed the air in gulps.

She did not want to die.

She didn't realize she was crying until she touched her cheeks and found them damp.

She didn't remember much except that it was hot during the day and she was given leftovers to sustain her. She refused to beg for mercy when the trunk door popped open and Judy hovered over her with a plate of cold spaghetti and half a baked potato.

She did remember being forced to clean out the trunk afterwards, and the sulfuric smell of urine.

.

"Give me a date, Max."

"A what?"

"A date I can mark on my calendar. When I can see my kids again."

"Christine…"

"Stop fucking calling me that."

Max shakes his head. "We can't go back, Ruth."

She hit him so hard she drew blood, her fist connecting with his jaw and making a dull crack. He swallowed the blood pooling out from the inside of his cheek and held her tightly against his chest, rocking her until she stopped shaking.

"We'll leave tomorrow," Max said. "Head north."

Ruth turns to stare at him. "We—"

"We can't go back, but we can get closer. Florida is far. Let's head to the north-east and settle there. It—we'll be closer."

Ruth reached up and brushed her knuckles against Max's swollen cheek.

He shoplifted a camcorder for her the next day and told her to record a message for their daughter, and another for their son. Just in case, but he didn't say this part.

.

"Temperance, someone's on the phone for you. Guy named Russ."

"Oooh," taunted one of the girls, "I bet it's her boyfriend."

"I bet it's her sugar daddy," another joined in.

"What's a sugar daddy?" one of the younger ones asked.

"It's when—"

"That's enough, Amber," Judy warned. She held out the handset. "Temperance?"

"I think she's deaf or dumb or something, Judes," the girl named Amber said. "Haven't heard her say a word all week."

"I don't speak much because none of you can keep up with my intelligence," Temperance explained.

"Oh-ho! Amber, she dissed you good."

"She dissed _all_ of us, Jake. Fuck off."

Temperance frowned. "That wasn't an insult. It was a fact."

Amber lunged at Temperance, and Judy dropped the phone to break up the fistfight.

That was the first time Temperance ignored Russ on her birthday.

.

They found themselves in a small town in south-west Pennsylvania. Ten hours, and they'd be back in Chicago. Eight and a half if Max was driving. But Chicago was dangerous, so they remained cautious and bided their time.

They watched The Fugitive on a Tuesday afternoon because they were masochists with an appreciation for irony.

Christine Brennan died unexpectedly that night. It was quick and tidy. She just collapsed and never got back up.

Max cried, apologies spilling from his lips for a lifetime of hardship, for the mother who would never again see her children, for the wife he loved so dearly. For the mistakes they both made, as individuals and as a couple, as parents.

He wrapped her up in a blanket and buried her at the edge of a nearby cemetery. It wasn't enough, wasn't nearly what she deserved, but it was all he had.

.

She aged out of the system. At eighteen, with nothing but her books and years of bad memories, she was thrust into the world. She aged out because nobody wanted her.

Her grandfather saved her. That's what she'd tell people, she decided. It was a much better story.

.

Little boys who grew up loving cars spent their days dreaming of one day sitting in the driver's seat of a Ferrari and speeding down a racetrack at two hundred miles per hour. Most ended up admiring from afar.

Russ, far removed from the little boy who once loved cars, worked at a chop shop and processed stolen car parts. He blamed it on his genetics, on his father, on everything except himself and his choices.

.

Max Keenan wandered the north-east with a hole in his heart the size of his two children and his dead wife, and he kept tabs on Russ and Temperance, watched over them from a distance because it was all he could do.

His most prized possessions were two videotapes and the precious messages recorded on them. One day, he'd hand-deliver them. One day, he'd hold his babies again.

One day.

.

Temperance went to college on a scholarship and majored in anthropology. She devoured the knowledge, consumed it like it was the air she needed to breathe. She blazed through grad school and picked up three PhDs.

She moved to Washington DC and took a position at the prestigious Jeffersonian Institute under Dr. Daniel Goodman.

She met Angela Montenegro at an art exhibit, insulted one of her pieces, and became her best friend.

She worked with Dr. Jack Hodgins and grew to respect his knowledge, his passion for what he did.

She took Zack Addy under her wing because his intelligence was genius-level and she saw the potential in him to be something great. Nobody ever told her she would one day _be_ something, but she thought she could be that person for Zack.

Special Agent Seeley Booth barreled into her life with a cocky grin and an awful side-part, and tried to show her all the things she didn't believe in. Things about humanity, and faith, and love. All the things she remembered from her youth but was too afraid to hang on to, too convinced by their inexistence.

She hadn't heard from her parents in a decade, and she'd been ignoring her brother's annual phone calls for about the same time, but she sat in the middle of her office, looking out through the glass walls at the lab she called home.

She made something of herself, and she could be proud of that. Her family was out there, she knew. Dead or alive, they were out there, but here, she had one too.

She'd be okay, she decided.

She'd be okay.

_fin_.


End file.
